Earning the right to cum.

I stared up at you wordlessly. It’s Monday morning and I’m perched on the kitchen stool drinking coffee, you were making eggs until I opened my big stupid mouth. Now you’re turned toward me, arms folded, spatula clasped loosely in one hand. Gaze steady. My hands fiddled with the belt that cinched around my waist and connected between my legs, and I wanted to yell back, yes, I want to cum I fucking need to, I’ve had this thing on me six months and it is slowly driving me insane.. but that wasn’t exactly an option. And ordinarily I could deal with it, with the constant feeling of emptiness and the fitful grinding squirming nights, (and the dreams, always the dreams) but this week I have assignments due, big ones, and I need to concentrate, if I could just cum once it might relieve the constant, nagging gnawing need..

He sighs. “Speak up, pumpkin.”

I breathe in, shakily. “Well Daddy it’s just, I’ve got this project due in a couple of days and I’m pretty behind already, and I’m not thinking too straight and I just thought-”

He casually cuts me off. I think of saw blades. “You just thought, huh.”

My mouth shuts so fast I hear my teeth click.

He advances on me. Stands over me, menacing, eyes burning a hole in the top of my head. I stare down at my coffee. I can feel my shoulders shivering, gooseflesh rising. He’s got a voice like teeth in your neck, Daddy does, and I hunch my shoulders around the nape of my neck in vain preparation.

When he speaks, though, he’s sweet, and I nearly fall off my stool in surprise. “Well, I suppose it h-a-s been a long time, sweetheart. And if you’re struggling like you say you are, maybe this is just necessary. You’ve been a very good girl.”

I look up at him with wild hope. “Really, Daddy?”

He’s smiling. Well, he’s grinning, really, and some of that unexpected joy starts to curdle in my stomach.

“Sure, baby. You know the rules though.” Showing his teeth now.

I collapse in on myself. I do know the rules. I thought he’d take mercy. I had thought that, had counted on it, otherwise I wouldn’t have dared ask.

“In order to cum I have to do something interesting.” My voice is dull.

“Very good baby! And what does interesting mean?”

“Whatever Daddy says it does.”

“And what does Daddy normally think is very interesting indeed?”

I swallow. Hear my throat click. Hear the roar of blood in my ears. He doesn’t prompt me this time, just waits. Looks.

I’m trembling. “Giving up limits is interesting.” I get an approving smile for that. I drink in the scant affection.

Hand on my chin. Caressing my face. Willing myself to keep focused on his eyes, catching my gaze every time it threatens to shuttle.

“Now, let me think. We’ve already blown through quite a few of yours already, haven’t we?” He frowns, pretends to consider. I can’t speak. I know them all. I remember when they were ripped away. Sometimes he makes me cum to the memory of it, a vicious cycle. “And now I’m going to take one more. We’re getting among the really important ones now, and I hate to do this to you, but you did have to cum.”

I can feel tears springing up, hot and useless.

“How many limits do you have left? And what are they?”

My limits come in two sections. On one side are untouchable barriers to never touch or breach or think about; children and scat (although I’ve seen his face when scat comes up and I think he might break that one too, just one time, just to mess with me). On the other side are limits that he refers to as ‘fair game’. I know how many remain.

“Organ removal, amputation, web exposure, animals, snuff.” Biting on my lip to stop the shakes.

Gently stroking my face. “And which one are you choosing, pumpkin?”

Deep breath, hold it, exhale. Think about inevitability. This was always going to happen. From when you and him first got together and you asked him, timidily, hesitantly, about limits, and his bored indifference, and.. “The d-dogs, Daddy.”

Beaming. “Well done baby, shhh.. I know it’s tough but you made a brave decision ok? The worst part is over.” He hugs me, I grasp at him desperately. He pulls me off him, absently, attention off me, thinking about something.

“You know, baby..” he sits down, pulls me onto his knee, pins my hands behind my back. “…it really has been a very long time. I know you’ve only ever cum from that swollen clit of yours, but after six months, anything could happen. Hmm?” He’s groping my tits as he talks. “Anything could happen. Do you think you could cum like that? Stuffed full of dog cock? Do you? Could you? Would you?”

I shake my head no, horror spilling wide.

“I know you don’t want to cum like that, baby. I know you don’t. I know that would just about break you. You don’t have to, pumpkin. I’ll keep you safe from that.” Fondling me. Fiddling with my nipples. “That’s why I’m going to cover your cunt with numbing gel first. You won’t be able to feel a thing. You can rub yourself afterwards, when it’s worn off. When it’s safe. You’ll thank me and then you’ll shower. Maybe then you’ll be able to concentrate.”